


Traces In His Hair

by orphan_account



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ass Play, Ass to Mouth, BUt they kind of share that really, Bottom Louis, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hair Kink, Harry's POV, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Regarding the hair thing, Rimming, Smut, Top Harry, embrace the filth, implied bottom Louis, implied top Harry, larry - Freeform, larry smut, larry stylinson - Freeform, this is absolute filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry may have a slight thing for Louis' hair. Smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traces In His Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Follicles and Fallacies](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/221077) by theworldwalker. 



Louis’s voice was a soft brook streaming through the air, a mere trickle of a hum, an absentminded little thing as he worked the sewing machine in front of him. I was happy with the comparison; the thought of clear, clean water brought to mind Louis’ eyes, always so shiny and transparent, sometimes turned from crystal blue to shocking white when the sun hit his face.  
  
Delving deeper into the comparison, I pictured thousands of rocks lining the bank and the bottom of the river, glistening with the fresh wetness of the creek and so smoothed by the currents that walking overtop of them could serve as a foot massage. Blinking, I focused my eyes now on Louis. His back was turned to me, but I could see his hair from where I was reclined on the couch against the wall. Caramel hair, swishing slightly with his movements, rhythmic, constant as the rushing of a river.  
  
I stood up and made my way over to him, wincing slightly at the cramped muscles trying desperately to soften under my skin, and approached my boyfriend as he went steadily about his work.  
  
“Jesus!” he gasped, jumping a bit when I wrapped my arms around him from behind. “Look what you made me do, dickhead.” He gestured at the uneven threading that had come as a result of his surprised jerking movement.  
  
“I’m bored,” I murmured into his hair. I won’t lie, I love the scent. He bought different shampoo than me, special fancy stuff that had all the chemicals needed to keep him looking as perfect as always, and something about it really drove me crazy. After inhaling its aroma from my boyfriend’s head fascinatedly for however many months, I’d studied the bottle curiously in the shower and found that it specified no particular scent. It didn’t matter. It was amazingly enticing.  
  
I almost groaned when he pulled his head away so that he could turn around in his chair and face me. He fixed me with such a fed-up look, eyebrows raised up behind his fringe, that I would have laughed had I not been focused on making a pouty-lipped expression that all but screamed  _Pay attention to me!_  
  
“Harry,” he said softly in mock-patience. “Whose pants am I hemming right now?”  
  
I didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to his workplace where my new black jeans were draped. “Mine.”  
  
“And who has those long giraffe legs that always require hemmed jeans?”  
  
I wrinkled my nose at his phrasing. “Me.”  
  
“So who doesn’t have the right to complain when his exceptionally-generous boyfriend takes time out of his busy schedule to do said hemming?”  
  
“. . . Me.”  
  
“Bingo.” Louis finally broke eye contact and faced his table again. Once again the machine began clicking, Louis’ small fingers expertly maneuvering the denim under the needle. I watched in awe and envy as he worked; this was one skill that I was completely hopeless at, and watching Louis execute the task so perfectly always astounded me. “Why don’t you call up Niall or someone? I’m sure the lads have got some sort of plans for the night.”  
  
“M-m-m,” I drawled contemplatively, thinking about it. While I thought I reached for Louis’s hair, as gently as I could so not to startle him again, and combed my fingers through it slowly. I couldn’t suppress a contented sigh as I felt the silky strands run by my calloused skin. Okay, there was no way I’d ever felt hair as soft as Louis’. How was it even possible?  
  
“Or,” said my boyfriend, unfazed by the soft tugging on his scalp. He was surely used to it by now. “Here’s a better idea. Go clean the kitchen. Your friends fucked it up pretty bad the other night.”  
  
I laughed out loud, finally releasing his tresses and stepping back. I knew he was right; I needed to find something or someone else to entertain me while he was working. “You’re more of a housewife than actual housewives, Lou,” I chortled. He didn’t reply, so I turned away and headed for the kitchen.  
  
~~~  
  
I’m sure it’s apparent by now, but there is little in this world that I adore as much as Louis Tomlinson's hair.  
  
I’d admired it for as long as I could remember. It had struck me in all its beauty from the moment I met him, no, saw him, even. I could remember it as crystal-clear as ever even now, ten months later. It had been absolutely perfect, every part of it, every breath, every second that went by. We’d been at Liam’s for a bonfire and the whole evening had been a blast, a blur of orange light and shouts of laughter and the smell of smoke and freshly-cut grass, but the moment when my eyes landed on that blue-eyed man across the circle had been particularly magical. The way the dusky light hit him, illuminating his face and reflecting in stripes across his hair, took my breath away. When he caught me staring he offered me a wave, his eyebrows raised in a trademark facial expression that had become as familiar to me since then as the back of my hand, and the rest is history.  
  
Though neither of us had expressed it verbally, I knew that he must be somewhat aware of his hair’s allure for me. I would be shocked if he wasn’t, considering the amount of times I’d complimented him on it, or complained when he got it cut, or absentmindedly caressed it like when he’d been sewing that day. I never grew tired of examining it no matter what kind of light it reflected, pinching it between my fingers and pulling slowly, tenderly so it wouldn’t sting, watching the gleams and shadows dance within the intricate array of shades of brown and, during last summer, patches of blond. I admitted, it was a bit of a fixation. But I figured that everyone has that one thing about their partner that they love so fully, so unequivocally, that they could just look at it all day . . .  
  
Okay, so maybe it’s a bit abnormal. But I’d never thought of it as harmful or weird. Louis liked being fawned over no matter which of his aspects was the subject of my admiration, so in the end it all worked out well for both of us.  
  
Or so I’d thought.  
  
That night, I was lying in bed with a magazine held up in front of my face when Louis emerged from the bathroom in his pajamas. He was the type that didn’t like being watched when he was brushing his teeth, so he always kept the door shut as he went about his nightly routine, and now I could smell the faint bite of mint around his person as he climbed into bed next to me, snuggling down under the covers and scooting over until he was pressed up against me. Not taking my eyes off the page, I automatically wrapped an arm around his shoulder.  
  
“What are you reading, new  _Rolling Stone_?” murmured Louis into my bare shoulder. I always slept shirtless—hell, if I had my way I’d always sleep naked.  
  
“Mhm,” I replied. “We should get the new Springsteen, it’s supposed to be really good.”  
  
Louis’s voice was barely understandable with the way he’d smushed his face into my shoulder. I could feel his lips moving warmly against my bare skin as he talked, and it gave me goosebumps. “Of course it is, it’s Springsteen.”  
  
“The last one definitely wasn’t his _best—mhh_ _,_ _”_ I sighed the last bit as Louis, having apparently lost interest in the conversation, began placing long kisses in the crevices of my neck. I could already feel myself hardening as his hand roamed firmly along my chest and stomach, palm quickly heating up with the friction against my skin.  
  
It was fairly easy to go from there, and before five minutes had passed the  _Rolling Stone_ was on the floor along with our clothes. It was just like a scene from a romantic comedy. We really had grown quite domestic.  
  
Louis was kissing me again but now he began to travel downward along my still horizontal body. I sighed in satisfaction, my eyelids drooping but not lowering completely, watching him happily as he made his descent. Although even at this stage I couldn’t make my thoughts so coherent, I knew somewhere deep within that there was absolutely no place on earth I would rather be than right here, right now, with a hot trail of kisses leading down my chest and about to be blown by the most beautiful man in the world. Life was more than good.  
  
However, there was one thing on my mind that could make it even better.  
  
“Turn the light on,” I breathed into his ear. The light on my side was already on, of course, all to read my magazine article by, but there was still the one on his side of the bed. Keeping his eyes closed, without breaking the flow, he reached over and switched on the lamp unquestioningly. This wasn’t the first time I’d made that request, although it was far from everyday behavior.  
  
Once that was done, Louis scooped up the empty space that would have filled the following moments and dumped it out, replacing it with his mouth on my dick, his tongue lapping over the tip, his hand fondling my balls gently. I had to snap my eyes shut then, had to squeeze the pillow at my side to keep from crying out eagerly. It was too early for that. I knew from experience that Louis still had a long way to go.  
  
He encased me in his lips and ducked down sharply and then back up, lather, rinse, repeat, taking more and more of me and speeding up with each duck of the head. He worked quickly, professionally, not unlike the manner with which he ran the sewing machine. There wasn’t a lot of buildup here, not with Louis, at least not right now; I was being unraveled by him and he knew it. He didn’t hesitate in his movements, didn’t allow for me to adjust before he was deepthroating me with small choking sounds each time the head of my dick hit the back of his throat, each time washing me in a wave of pleasure. In record time I was unable to hold back my cries any longer and I was moaning uncontrollably, my exhales roughened with gasps and occasional murmurs of encouragement, my breathing dictated by his rhythm so that we were moving together in harmony.  
  
Without needing to look I found Louis’s hair with both my hands, gripping it, earning simultaneous gasps from the both of us as the sensations burned from our skin to our brains and right down to our dicks. He felt the prickly, strained tug on his scalp from the way I’d tangled my fingers in his locks so tightly, and I experienced the once smooth, perfectly placed tresses knotting around my knuckles. It was heaven, it was enough to have me bucking involuntarily up into his throat. It was almost too much, I realized as I released my grasp on his hair to run my fingers through it desperately before grabbing it again. I was almost done for.  
  
The plan was beginning to take shape in my mind, not in words, heavens no, but in vague dancing ideas flickering through my brain, ideas that made my cock twitch in Louis’ mouth and mouth widen in ecstasy. Just picturing the scenario that I had in mind would have been enough to push me over the edge in a matter of seconds, but there was a deep longing, a desire, a need, for something more, for something real to come to fruition. There was no choice in the matter for me, not in this delicate state I was in, not when I had other visions that I knew would take me to a whole other level. I just couldn’t stop myself.  
  
As soon as the idea was finalized I began to move, to shift and maneuver my body, guiding Louis off of me as much as it pained me in order to arrange myself in a kneeling position on the bed. Always flexible, Louis modified his strategy easily, reattaching himself to my cock as soon as I’d settled, this time gripping my ass with both hands and flicking his pale blue gaze up to meet mine as he worked. I was almost amused at how surprised his little face looked while he sucked dick; eyes wide, eyebrows raised characteristically, cheeks hollowed. The epitome of that paradox you find with men like Louis, that unquestionable innocence that somehow appears so blatantly even in the most animalistic of acts. It was beautiful. It was what made drove me further, what stirred up the hunger burning deep within the pit of my stomach, what made me gasp and sweat and pant, “I’m gonna come,” down to him.  
  
The warning only made him more enthusiastic, bobbing fervently like his life was on the line, keeping his half-lidded eyes kept downwards in his focus. I sensed the build somewhere in my deepest regions, like someone was pulling a hook that would send me crumbling to pieces, and it was climbing alarmingly fast with the incredible job Louis was doing, and oh fuck, oh  _fuck—_  
  
I knew I only had milliseconds to spare so I quickly pulled away from Louis, shoving his shoulders back to force him off of me, and he responded with an indignant cry before I had him by the hair again, keeping him still, keeping him steady as I pumped my dick in front of him. Again he caught on quickly, responding by opening his mouth wide like a slut to catch my cum. While he waited patiently and I watched his tongue flick invitingly over his lips, I was suddenly pushed over the edge, all barriers collapsing around me and inside of me.  
  
I think it was shock that kept him still, made him complacent, kept him from recoiling as the following events unfolded; I’d like to think that maybe it was something more, but all things considered I knew that it was a long shot. Yes, it was shock, pure, white, heart-stopping shock that rendered his entire body absolutely still, motionless as a marble statue, the only noticeable difference being a change in expression, as I aimed as well as I could through the haze of heat I was squinting though, and came directly onto his mop of brown hair that hung in beautiful clumps over his face.  
  
It felt like a blinding explosion inside of me as I watched myself spill out over him, over his head, that hair, and I swear to god I had never seen a contrast so filthily, poetically beautiful as the one between the white strings and globs, and the silky caramel canvas that they’d been streamed onto. I was staggered, elated, convulsing with an orgasm more powerful and drawn out than anything I could ever imagine, so much so that it frightened me. I went through more tremors and rushes of heat rolling through me than I thought possible before it was finally over.  
  
Louis’ hair in my fingers was stringy from the sweat of my hand and I had to take a second to untangle myself from it before I could collapse on my back on the bed, still panting. I glanced at Louis. He hadn’t moved an inch. He was just sitting there, on his knees, my cum dripping down his fringe, a dazed expression of shock plastered onto his face. I almost laughed.  
  
Then, his voice low and quivery: “You bloody arsehole.”  
  
I barely had time to raise my eyebrows before he was off the bed and speedwalking to the bathroom, hands hovering around his head like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. He didn’t even bother to close the door in his haste, just hurriedly flicked on the light and disappeared from my view. I heard him start the shower.  
  
A few seconds later: “Who fucking  _does_ shit like that?!”  
  
Despite his indignant tone, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. I honestly wished I could bring myself to sympathize with him, I did, but I was way too far up on cloud nine to really care about my boyfriend’s outrage, even when it was directed at me. I was warm and my joints felt wonderfully loose and I could feel fields of tall grass waving gently in the wind inside of me and I was certain that, however much bitching I was going to receive from Louis, it was absolutely worth it.  
  
As I lay there listening to the running water mixed with Louis’ curses and watching the ceiling fan turn around and around, there was no doubt in my mind that I was the happiest man on earth.  
  
I was still smiling when Louis emerged from the bathroom wrapped in his fluffy bathrobe after ten straight minutes of what I was sure had been a zealous bout of scalp-scrubbing. He shut off the bathroom light with a snap, and when I met his eyes I could see a raging fire blazing in their depths.  
  
He was so beautiful now, I noted as he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms bitchily. Tan, defined legs exposed below the robe’s hem; collarbones peeking out, curving elegantly to frame his neck; and, as always, his hair. There was something raw and breathtaking about it when it was wet, waving in narrow clumps of velvet brown, catching shimmering lights in its watery reflections, each strand punctuated by a tiny orb of water just waiting to gather enough momentum to break free and drip to his shoulders or back or the floor. It was like a work of art. God, I loved him so much.  
  
After it was clear that I wasn’t going to do anything but stare at him admiringly, he stated, “You are  _never_ doing that again.”  
  
“Okay,” I agreed easily.  
  
“Do you know,” he said crisply. “How long it takes me to look so pretty?”  
  
“You always look beautiful.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes at me and made his way cautiously over to the bed, where he settled on the edge of his side of the mattress, keeping one hand clenched on the front of his robe. I followed his progression, hardly aware anymore of the smile on my face, and when he was close enough I rolled over on my side and reached out to rub his knee. He allowed it.  
  
“I’m serious, Harry.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
He seemed to soften a little, scooting closer to me on the bed and finally returning my touch, taking my hand off his knee into both of his own and beginning to play with my fingers. I was content to lay and count his eyelashes as he stared down at the way our hands looked mixed together. My skin looked so white against his.  
  
I found the strength in my still-loose muscles to push myself to a sitting position and pull Louis into my arms. Although he sometimes seemed as tall as I was, he was actually quite a bit smaller. It must be the way he carried himself. I pressed light kisses onto his shoulders and neck, not daring to touch his hair again (though the scent was inescapable), hugging him to my chest.  
  
There were days when Louis said things to me that made me want to shake him and scream into his face, but there was something there—not in him, or in me, but in us together—that kept me from breaking down, from surrendering, and that something was practically tangible in the air at that moment. He was warm through the terrycloth and he smelled deliciously sweet and the sound of his breathing carried hints of his voice’s natural melody, and as far as I knew the night was still young and there was no reason to let it go to waste.  
  
“You’re so weird lately,” he murmured, and there was something in his words that could have been a laugh, but I wasn’t sure.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
My kisses were growing deeper, hotter, moving up behind his ear and then back down again to suck on that collarbone I’d noted earlier. He waited until I’d completed the cycle before he spoke again, and then it was only to say, “Mhm.”  
  
I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing, really, wasn’t planning ahead more than a second or two at a time. My hands wandered along Louis’ chest underneath his robe, slowly, just feeling, exploring the paths my fingers had traced so many times before, his breath stuttering whenever I brushed across one of his nipples. I was amazed and humbled by the fact that I didn’t need to look or feel down below to know that he was getting hard. I knew all of his signs.  
  
Soon I was pulling away the garment down his shoulders, exposing his graceful form, and started planting kisses down his back, no real pattern to it, no rhyme or reason, simply experiencing the warmth and smoothness his skin had to offer, enjoying the way it felt under my lips and my palm as I rubbed my hand across his legs, his shoulders, anywhere I could.  
  
“Harry . . .” he croaked as I went lower and lower.  
  
“You wanna get on your knees?” I breathed the question as a reply, so quiet it was barely audible.  
The question was a risky move considering the prissy mood he was in—it would not have surprised me at all if he’d barked  _Fuck off!_ and stormed off to find something to drink downstairs, but it just so happened that he complied, shifting so that his hands and knees were pressed into the mattress. His robe fell to the carpet next to some of the earlier articles of clothing. I was lucky. Especially considering that he wasn’t even aware of what I had in mind.  
  
I couldn’t help but admire the sight in front of me for just a moment. Louis Tomlinson, exposed, willing. Giving himself over to me. His perfect ass bathed in light from both bedside lamps and he arched his back ever so slightly, a very Louis move that reminded me of his tongue earlier. I ran my hands over the mesmerizing curve, squeezing slightly and sighing.  
  
Then I lowered myself back down, almost on his level, and pressed kisses to his bum cheeks. I felt the sharp intake of breath rock his body slightly, and I didn’t give him a chance to say anything, to rasp a question or a warning to me before I dove in tongue first.  
  
Of course, if I thought that this would do anything to shut him up, I was dead wrong. “ _Jesus,_ Harry!” he enunciated as I probed him slowly, exaggeratedly, enjoying his enjoyment. To moans of encouragement I worked, mouthing at him sloppily and swirling my tongue in intricate patterns that would make any artist swoon if I could find a way to transcribe them to paper.  
  
If Louis was beautiful when he was poised in his robe like a statue, then he was breathtaking when I had him like this, open and submissive. It was strange, I realized as I pulled my tongue out and thrust it back in rapidly, picking up the pace and knocking Louis’ voice an octave, it was strange how Louis could be sometimes. At least it seemed strange to me. He’d blown me in public more times than I could count, he let me fuck him up against a mirror from behind, I’d known him to occasionally move my hand to his throat when he started to get close—but heaven forbid I do anything to fuck up his hair. Maybe he wasn’t as simple as I made him out to be.  
  
“God, Harry, yes,” he panted now, pushing back slightly against me, voluntarily or involuntarily, I wasn’t sure, and I took one of my hands off his ass to slip a finger in right along beside my tongue, and he was gone. I tongue- and finger-fucked him through it, speeding up in my movements as he shuddered and came all over the sheets without either of us touching his cock.  
  
Pleased with my work, I straightened up with a smile on my face as Louis rolled over onto my side of the bed to breathe as he came down. His eyes were closed and his hair was still wet from his shower, and as I gazed at his skin and his hair and his slightly-parted lips suddenly I felt urged to switch off the light beside him, and then the one on his side. I needed to hear him breathe, and besides, we didn’t need the lamps. His face was enough to light up the room around the pillowcase.  
  
I squeezed in beside him in the darkness, wanting to avoid the mess as much as he did, and ran the back of my hand up and down his thigh and listened to the sounds that the world had to offer at one o’clock in the morning. It had been a good day—my jeans were hemmed, the kitchen was clean, and I’d had an amazing experience no matter how much Louis’s poor hair had suffered. I knew I would sleep well tonight.  
  
Just as I was dozing off with my hand still resting against Louis’ skin, he spoke into the night. “Okay,” he said. “So maybe you’re allowed to do it again sometime.”  
  
Without opening my eyes, I smiled and pressed a kiss against whatever part of Louis my lips could find in the darkness.  
  
~~~  
  
The next day, I came home from work just in time to hear Louis talking on the phone in the kitchen, and I can’t begin to describe the fluttering sensation that I felt in my stomach when I realized that he was talking to his salon, canceling the haircut appointment that he’d scheduled for next week.


End file.
